"I don't believe lies anymore."
Tick-tock, this is the sound of clock fucking. Black black, this is the sound of my voice, the essence of nothingness, the absence of dependence, co-existence. Crashing back into picket-fence symmetry, the scenery so deceiving. Smack down, palms down, ass up in the grass of a calm, winter evening and I’m alive again, alive again, so Alive.
We knew each other when we were younger. When we were still innocent, pure, unable to cause harm. I’m still just a juror.
How can I be both narrator and story? Both submissive and objective? Taking turns on loving the other more, the balance has never been more intolerable. Taking turns on saying goodbye one last time,
it's out of my hands.
THINK ABOUT IT.
He spoke but a whisper: loud and clear to the ones with their heads above sea-level. Orange rhymes with orange and I don't give a damn.
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